


It Takes Someone to Come Around

by greenurr



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Bottom Steve Rogers, Cunnilingus, Dom Pepper Potts, Dom/sub, Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Sub Steve Rogers, Sub Tony Stark, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenurr/pseuds/greenurr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is recovering from what happened in Sokovia. Some people are handling it worse than others. Pepper is going to make these two talk about their feelings if it kills her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hated Age of Ultron. I hated it. I needed to fix it. I needed to rub my grubby bisexual hands all over it. Eat my ass, Joss Whedon.

Steve hadn’t been able to sleep, so he was running.

They’d been happening less and less often, these bouts of sleeplessness, but after Ultron they’d started back up. They weren’t nightmares, or at least none that he could remember. He would just wake up, and not be able to go back to sleep. There really wasn’t much to do at 4 AM on a Wednesday morning, so he was running.

He looped back around 5 AM, taking a short cut through Central Park to make it up to Stark Tower by 5:30. There were no paparazzi hanging around the entrance at 5:30 in the morning, at least not anymore. When they’d gotten back from Sokovia there’d been cameras surrounding them, day and night, following them wherever they went. Steve had cussed out a few of them, after they’d knocked over an old homeless woman following him to his VA meeting. That’d made headlines. He teased his teammates about language, but it was really just for laughs, for the look on their faces, especially Tony’s. He had been a soldier after all.

He got buzzed in by Friday and asked her to drop him off on the bottom residential floor. He had a kitchenette on his own floor, but his kitchenette didn’t have that peach-orange-mango juice he’d been eyeing. It was Clint’s, technically, but Clint wouldn’t know who’d finished it.

When he got the carton out of the fridge and shook it, there was just about half a glass left. When placed in this kind of situation, a mundane, everyday sort of thing, sometimes he still didn’t remember about things like dishwashers, so he brought the carton up to his lips and drank from it. It was better that way anyway, the juice sweet and cold down his throat.

When people asked him what his favorite thing about the future was, he never told them about the juice. It wasn’t very romantic. But God, peach-orange-mango juice? Who could have thought of that? They deserved a medal.

“Wait until I tell everyone that Captain America drinks straight from the carton,” said a voice from the doorway. He spluttered and glanced over. Pepper Potts, in yoga clothes, was leaning against the open frame.

“And it’s Clint’s, too?” she asked. “Steve, come on.”

“Don’t tell him?” he asked, meekly. There was something about Pepper, something in her thin frame, even in exercise clothes and a messy bun, that made him want to call her Miss Potts. She had authority, not military like he was used to, but slightly intimidating all the same. It made him want to snap to attention whenever she looked at him.

“You got it,” she said, and smiled. “I’m making a panini before yoga, you want one?”

He couldn’t remember what a panini was. As she headed over to the press, he remembered Tony taking him on a tour of the kitchen.

“That’s the panini press, it’s for sandwiches,” he said, waving a hand to the sleek silver machine sitting primly on the counter. “It’s Pepper's. You can use it, but it’s Pepper’s. She loves paninis. It’s a little bit 2011 of her, but don’t tell her that. Or at least, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“I’d love one,” he said, pleased. Pepper was hard to read, in a friendly, frighteningly competent way. He’d always got the feeling that when she’d first met him she’d catalogued him and put him into a drawer in her brain to be taken out later and notated. Not in an unkind way. But he’d felt a little bit stripped nonetheless.

“Well, you can make it yourself,” she said, a little bit testily. Before his stomach could drop three feet she smiled at him. “I’m teasing, I’m teasing. You like olives?”

He did like olives, but he didn’t like feta. She substituted with brie. He watched her while she worked. There wasn’t much else to look at. She was efficient, like she was at everything, but she also hummed a little as she cut tomatoes, something tuneless, maybe off the radio. The light was coming in through the windows, yellow, and it highlighted her freckles, the blonde in her hair. Usually she had more makeup on, her hair styled, and it wasn't as obvious.

“I like taking care of people,” she said, stacking up the sandwiches, looking over at him. “I saw you staring at me. Are you wondering why I’m doing this?”

“Oh, no,” he said. All of the sudden, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. It had seemed so easy, before she’d spoken. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do anything to make you uncomfortable."

“No, it’s okay,” she said. There was a pause, and then she gently placed the paninis on the press with manicured fingertips. “I do like to take care of people, to do things for them. It makes me happy. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to keep up being Tony’s assistant, no matter what kind of benefits Stark Industries provides. I like being CEO; I love it, more than my assistant job. I’m in charge, and that’s great. But I have people to do things for me now. I like to help where I can." She sighed, and the paninis dinged. "God, sorry for over sharing, I’m talkative in the mornings.”

With that, she placed two perfectly toasted paninis on their waiting plates, and picked hers up, left Steve’s for him. “You can bring your juice,” she called, over her shoulder, as she headed out to the balcony outside the kitchen. He grabbed his juice and his plate and followed her.

They ate for a while, in silence. It was a little bit awkward. She wasn’t on the team, and they were both aware of that. She was, as Steve had heard her callously described by gossip magazines, an Avengers WAG. But she was also the most powerful woman, and arguably the most powerful person in America, possibly in the world. They were both aware of that, too. It wasn’t so awkward that they couldn’t eat, his gaze fixed on the vase of flowers just to the left of him in the center of the table, conscious of where his gaze was. He could see her in the periphery of her vision, eating neatly and quickly.

“So, what’s up with Natasha and Bruce these days?” she asked. Pepper was, Steve had learned, a terrible gossip, especially when it came to people’s relationships. She and Natasha were friends. They went out for brunch the second Sunday of every month, missions allowing, as a terrifying redhead coalition, but Steve knew it was harder to get information out of Natasha than it was a brick wall when she didn’t want to tell you something.

“Don’t really know,” he said, taking another bite of panini so his mouth would be full.

“Well, they sort of imploded, didn’t they?” she asked.

It was true. Bruce and Natasha’s fledgling relationship had faded along with the adrenalin after the team had gotten a bit of a break. Post Ultron, the two of them were a little bit awkward together, and Tony had taken on Hulk handling. In a way, he was even better at it than Natasha was.

Steve had seen it happen with his own troops back in WWII, two fellas so happy to be alive they’d misapplied that passion elsewhere, woken up pants-less in the middle of a German forest. It could be awkward for a few days or weeks, but he’d seen some nice relationships come of it too. God knows he’d done it enough times with Bucky, but they’d had a solid enough bond of friendship that one or five ecstatic handies didn’t make much of a difference.

“I suppose,” he said, after he chewed. He wasn’t opposed to gossip, necessarily, at least when it was harmless. He knew that it brought people together. He just never really knew what to say when someone asked him to give an opinion. “It was a little out of character of them,” he ventured.

“That’s exactly what I thought. I’m glad they’ve come to their senses.” She looked out onto the city, and then back to him, tilted her head. “I wish you wouldn’t be so nervous around me,” she said, and gathered up his empty plate. “I’ll take this inside." 

Her free hand brushed gently over his shoulder as she walked past him.

Inside the kitchen, Clint moaned, “Aw, juice…” and then asked Pepper, “Have you seen my juice?”

“Is it not in the fridge?” she asked, perfectly innocent.

* * *

Tony sketched on paper now, more often than not. It wasn’t that his girl Friday wasn’t good. She was attentive and thorough and ran as fast as any of his machines did, which was to say she ran the fastest. Every time her cheerful voice answered his questions, though, he just wanted to wince. Friday was bubbly and helpful and sweet, with a sharp tongue that came out when he needed it to. He’d designed her that way. But she wasn’t dry enough. And her voice was all wrong.

So he was sketching on paper. It made Friday sad, or at least as sad as an AI can be. He knew it did. She felt neglected, because Jarvis had left her everything, like he knew Tony would replace him, like Jarvis knew that he wasn’t coming back. Tony couldn’t think about it for too long.

But Friday understood. She was empathetic. He’d designed her that way too.

Vision had left; off to do whatever it was he did now. He was young, and he deserved to take a tour of the world. In a lot of ways, Tony was glad. He sounded like Jarvis, talked like Jarvis, acted like Jarvis, but wasn’t Jarvis. Something about that stone in his head made him different, lacking all of Jarvis’ dry humor and attitude, what Tony had loved about him best. It hurt more to have Vision around than it helped.

Tony had asked Jarvis once, if he wanted a body made for him. Jarvis hadn’t laughed, but Tony could hear that he’d wanted to.

“I must respectfully decline, sir. Without a corporeal body I can be anywhere, do anything, learn and act from a hundred thousand different places. Being chained to a body, only able to be in one place at one time, having to learn how to walk and move and hold things? Sir, that’s about the worst thing I can imagine.”

It was hard to look at Vision and not think about that.

Dummy was still around though, and Butterfingers, and You. They missed Jarvis too, though. Every time he had hooked Dummy up to the mainframe, up to Friday, for maintenance, Dummy had just repeated, over and over:

QUERY: JARVIS?

QUERY: JARVIS?   

QUERY: JARVIS?

QUERY: JARVIS?

He wouldn’t take any new code, any new updates. All of them failed. Tony had watched Friday run her own complicated lines of code, trying to explain to Dummy what had happened, that Jarvis wasn’t coming back. It was hard to explain mortality to an only semi-intelligent robot. Dummy had accepted it, eventually, had allowed for new updates and stopped asking after Jarvis. They spent a lot of time together, though, Dummy and Butterfingers and You, in their charging station, metal fingers gently touching metal frames, as if in comfort.

You, of course, was obsessed with Friday, but that was because he was obsessed with Pepper. Tony had based Friday off of Pepper, one caffeine and anxiety fueled night. It had been right after he’d made her CEO, before Natasha as Natalie Rushman had come to be his assistant. He’d gone through assistant after assistant, none of them able to last through the week. No one could put up with him but Pepper, but Pepper wasn’t working for him anymore, so he’d tried, perhaps a little creepily, to make a Pepper that could still help him, at least digitally. Called her 'his girl Friday', as a bad joke. Friday had taken on her own personality, had become sweeter than Pepper had ever been in her life, but the connection was still enough for You to knock himself over trying to impress her, for Tony not to snarl at her every time he heard her voice instead of Jarvis’.

But still, he was sketching his new design on paper.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” said Steve, from behind his shoulder. Tony jumped.

“Sorry,” said Steve. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He sounded a little bit amused, a little bit bemused. He always sounded that way when it came to Tony, and it made Tony want to bite something of Steve's and rip it off.

“It’s fine,” Tony said, “totally fine.” He hadn’t ripped anything off, at least yet, because he and Steve were playing nice.

After the disaster that was the entire Ultron mission, Tony had expected Steve to lord it over in his face. Instead, Steve had just stared at the clear blue sky outside the cathedral and sighed.

“Let’s just go home,” he’d said, so home they’d gone. 

Steve had moved up to New York before the Ultron business, after he and his friend Sam had found Bucky. Sam and Bucky were living together now, in Brooklyn, Sam apparently helping Bucky recover. It was going well, according to Steve. He visited, but he didn’t live with them, never even stayed the night.

“Bucky and I could never stay under the same roof,” he’d explained one mission to Natasha, not realizing that his comm was still on, that Tony was the only other one listening. “We’d kill each other, absolutely kill each other. Couldn’t even sleep in the same tent during the war. Right after my ma died, Bucky offered to stay the night with me. ‘Like old times,’ he said. It was all I could do to keep from laughing in his face, God. When we were kids we used to stay at each other’s houses when one of our ma’s was working the night shift. By the end of it one of us always had a black eye. He snores something awful, too. It’s so loud; you can hear it in other rooms, in other apartments even. Besides, it makes more logistical sense for me to live in the tower. You can’t come bring the helicopter to Brooklyn every time we get a call, that’s wasting entire minutes of mission time.”

Tony wanted to mock Steve for being afraid to waste “entire minutes of mission time” but he also didn’t want Steve to know he’d been listening in. He did carefully tuck away, though, the fact that he didn’t snore. 

“What is that?” asked Steve, leaning over Tony’s shoulder. Steve didn’t seem to have much of an idea of personal space, probably left over from the army and growing up in the 40’s, or something. Or maybe it’s just a Steve thing. “Is that an airplane?”

It was actually a drone to drop food and water for refugees. He was working to design it so, no matter what anyone did to it, it could never be used to drop bombs. Nothing but food and water, and maybe clothes. Soap. Other things refugees needed, he didn’t know. But no bombs. 

“Close enough,” he said, and Steve stiffened next to him. Tony never knew how Steve was going to take things. It really seemed to depend on who you were. He’d seen Steve and Bucky interact, once Bucky had been well enough to meet the team. Twenty minutes into dinner, they’d already covered that Bucky was an idiot who made everybody worry about him, that Steve was a mother hen, that Bucky was too proud to ask for help and would end up dead in a ditch one day and then where would that leave Steve, that Steve would be fine because he was just too fucking big to live on planet Earth so he’d probably die too, that Bucky needed to learn to adjust to the 21st century, that Steve was one to talk, that Bucky was a shithead, and that Steve needed to get his God damned act together.

“Oh my God,” Steve had said, slowly raising his middle finger. “Oh, wow, Buck, look, this is all for you. All of this, right here, for you. Oh my God.”

Bucky had hissed, “Guess what Steve? _I have two_ ,” and whipped out both his middle fingers.

But one stray comment from Tony was enough to have Steve clam up like a witness to a Mafia crime. And that wasn’t even mentioning Pepper. Steve almost got shy around Pepper, all of his natural clout taking a backseat to somebody who seemed to blush a lot. Tony got it, at least a little bit. It was weird, though, that Steve seemed to be this different person with everybody he talked to.

“It looks nice,” Steve said, standing back up from Tony’s shoulder. Tony missed his heat, just a little bit.

“Thanks,” Tony said. Steve walked off, probably to go do something heroic. 

Tony was going to have to scan these plans into Friday’s system soon, have her look at any possible mistakes, search for improvements, maybe slap some potential paintjobs on it. Not just yet, though. It could wait, for a little while at least. He could wait to have to hear her voice. At least for a little while.

* * *

Pepper didn’t like these kinds of events, never really had. She had come, of course, because it was expected of her as Tony’s secretary, now even more so as Stark Industries CEO. So she did all of those things she liked to do, took a nice long shower where she scrubbed every inch of her body, did her hair and makeup herself, naked in the steamy bathroom, before going on and slipping into the outfit she was going to wear, and then admiring herself in the mirror, just a little bit, because she damn well deserved it. Then she did what she hated to do, put on her best public CEO face, and stepped out into the world. 

The Stark Foundation was important, of course. And she loved being CEO, of course. There were upsides and downsides to every job, of course. With her previous job, both the upside and the downside had been Tony. With this job, the upside was the power she held, the rush she got after making a good deal, and the pride she took in her work. The downside was going to these parties that she didn’t want to be at, shaking the hands of people she didn’t want to touch, and watching people size her up, even now, after three successful years as Stark Industries’ CEO. It was intolerable to her.

Her mother had been an actress, a stage actress, had never made too much money but Pepper’s father made enough for them to be comfortable. Her mother had never gotten famous, but that was all right with Pepper. She’d rather have had a mother who had stayed around then left for the spotlight. Pepper didn’t like to think, so much, about what would be best for any future children she might have. They weren’t here yet, after all.

Her mother had been the one to teach her how to do her makeup and her hair.

“Everybody puts on their face, sweetheart, when they go out in public.” Her mother had been from Georgia, and her voice had been slow and sweet as she’d put her powder on her face, Pepper getting a bit dusted by it sitting on her lap. “Maybe not literally like I do, but everybody does. Remember that.” She’d put one finger to Pepper’s chin, tilted it to look at her mother’s face in the mirror. “The person you meet the first time is not going to be the same person you meet the second time, or the third. Everything is a performance. Everybody puts on their face. Some people never take it off.”

Pepper had the best face in the business, because as much as possible, she didn’t put it on. Her face was as much of her truthful reality as she could manage. Her mother might not have approved, but it worked for Pepper.

When she first met Tony, he put on so many faces she couldn’t keep track. For years, literally, she tried to figure out which one was the real one, the playboy, the genius, the media darling, the media terror, the good boss, the bad boyfriend. She eventually realized that while some of them were truer than others, none of them were fake. Or perhaps some of them were more untrue than others, and none of them were real. In any case, she loved a man of many faces, and she’d made her peace with that.

She couldn’t quite seem to put a finger down on Steve, though. A man as honest as him could only have one face, but that face seemed to change depending on whom he was talking to. She wondered what his face looked like alone. She wondered if even he knew.

So, she didn’t like the spotlight, didn’t like these kinds of parties, all the flashing lights. Tony did, though, no matter how much he might deny it. It excited him. It turned him on. He was on her as soon as the elevator door shut, taking them up to the top floor.

“Oh my God,” he said, kissing her. He’d said that the first time they kissed too; really quiet, so quiet no one else would have been able to hear. It was always gratifying, when he said that. She liked it. He was fumbling ineffectually at the back of her dress, and she liked that too, that he was so desperate. She didn’t feel like telling him her zipper was at her side.

“I’m not getting naked in the elevator, Tony,” she said, scolding a little, mockingly. He liked her to mock him a little, deride him, call him names. He once asked her to step on his face in her stilettos. She did it, and didn’t acknowledge how wet it made her, stepping on him, calling him dirty. If she acknowledged it, he would have won, and if there’s one thing about Pepper, it’s that she always tries her best to win.

The elevator dinged.

“Come on,” she said, pulling away, listening to him whine. Already. “If you get your clothes off quickly and kneel by the bed, you can eat me out.”

“And if I don’t?” he asked, already ripping his tie off. She turned around and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Would you ever?”

“Good point.”

He waited for her, naked, kneeling, cock hard and already a little bit wet at the tip, his hands cupping it, displaying it. She hung up her dress carefully, took off her stockings and garter belt, her underwear, her bra. Put her shoes back on. When Tony heard the click of her walking over, he moaned.

“God, I want to eat your pussy,” he said, and squirmed a little.

“Sure, sweetheart,” she said, and smiled, condescending. “If that’s what you want to do.”

She sat down in front of him on the neat duvet, opened up her legs, cupped the back of his head gently. He kissed her thighs, took his time, just a little bit, because he knew she liked it. She humored him when he finally got her mouth on her and moaned like he was dying, because she knew he liked it.

Tony was so sloppy about it, it was nearly embarrassing. He loved it so much, excess spit dropping down onto the ground, his nose mashing into her pelvis. She had to pull his head away sometimes, so he would breathe. He always made her come, during, usually three or four times. She was always quiet, but each time she came he’d moan like he was dying.

She’d never liked oral too much with other boyfriends. It felt too vulnerable, lying on her back with them between her legs, their teeth so close to something that important to her. She’d much rather have them on their backs, their cocks in her mouth, moaning for her. Her teeth around something so precious. Kneeling over them had always given her a thrill. They were fine with it, happy to get their dicks sucked without having to repay her, which suited her fine.

It wasn’t like that with Tony. He’d begged for it. The first time he’d done it he’d sucked at her clit, thrust in a finger unceremoniously, and given her the best orgasm of her life. She liked it better, with him, but it still wasn’t her favorite thing. She used it for special occasions, when he’d been especially good or when she was feeling generous.

She could feel her orgasm approaching, now, feel it gathering in the pit of her stomach, her thighs, behind her knees. Tony was flicking her clit with his tongue, circling a finger around the hole of her pussy because he knew she usually couldn’t come with penetration. She gripped his hair while she came, and he moaned, out of pleasure of pain, she didn’t know.

She knew he was ready to go again, but she was tired after the party and didn’t feel entirely up to another orgasm. She pulled his head back by his hair.

“Beg me to fuck you,” she said.

“Oh my god,” Tony said, licking his lips, tasting her. “Oh my God, please fuck me, please.”

She drew her thumb over his lips. “I like it when you beg for me. Get on the bed.”

He settled on his back, tenderly cupping his aching cock. She leaned over and sucked it into her mouth; briefly, just enough for him to bring up an errant knee and let out a choked cry. She knelt over him, laying his cock out flat against his stomach and settling her clit against the shaft, drawing up to rub herself against the head.

“Oh my god, please fuck me, please fuck me, please, please, please. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

He sounded like he was going to cry, so she rose up and sunk down onto him slowly, feeling herself taking him into her body. She leaned over him to kiss him while she adjusted, and he gently touched the side of her head, where her hair was drawn back into a tight up-do.

“Take your hair out?” he asked. “Please?”

“It’s going to have hairspray in it,” she warned him. “All kinds of crap.”

“I know,” he said. “I like it when it’s down.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, and sat up on his cock while she took out her hair. Once it was down, she leaned back over him, her hair covering both their faces like a curtain.

“That better?” she asked.

“Yeah, thank you,” he said.

“Alright, now be quiet,” she said, and covered his mouth with her hand.

He did cry, eventually, when she let him come.

After, she kissed him while she rubbed her own clit to another orgasm. He was in no position to do anything except gently pucker up in response to her mouth and let out little breathy groans to match hers. She came again, curling up and crying out. He rubbed her side with one callused hand until she got out of bed, took her stilettos off, and put on a bathrobe to go into the kitchen to grab both of them a glass of water and some Frosted Flakes.

They ate and drank, and when he was done she set the glasses on the bedside table and the cereal down on the ground, then turned around and spooned up against his back.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said, very quiet and small, and this was maybe her favorite face of his, after she’d taken him apart and put him back together. He was so sweet, like this, with this face on.

“Of course,” she said, and smoothed down his hair with one hand. Then she asked Friday to turn off the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chaptered fic I've ever done, and the longest fic I've written to date! Please feel free to leave comments and kudos! Thank you so much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Steve didn’t know what to bring, so he’d made a casserole. Last time he had brought wine, and both Sam and Bucky seemed pleased, but it seemed like such a cop out, just to drop into the liquor store and buy the second cheapest wine.

That was what Henry had always told him to do. Henry was a half-Italian, half-Jewish boy who hung around the bar near where Steve lived. He was pretty as a picture, with high Italian cheekbones, short brown ring-curls and big black eyes. He was never at a want for customers to bring up to the room he rented above the bar. When business was slow he would sit with Steve, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette “to keep his figure”.

“Always buy the second to cheapest drink, Steve,” said Henry one night, leaning in close. “We are not so poor that we can’t have standards.” Steve laughed, and Henry had leaned in close and pinched his cheek, pointed Steve towards a man who liked pretty little blondes he didn’t have to pay for. Henry had smelled like cigarette smoke and a little bit like flowers, even in February. His eyes had danced. He was always laughing.

Steve tried to look Henry up, after he’d gotten out of the ice, but there was no record of him past the late 40’s. Steve wanted Henry to see how he looked now, see how he’d laugh.

So Steve had made a casserole, broccoli and rice and cheese, which was easy enough. He’d gotten it off the internet. He knew Bucky liked plain, familiar food now, and Sam was a wonderful cook so there’d be plenty of other dishes. Sam was teaching Bucky a little bit, nice, easy things like cookies, so Bucky would associate good things with his metal arm, instead of just killing.

Dinner was fine. Dinner was great. Dinner was dinner with his two best friends in the world, his only friends in the world. Of course it was fun. Bucky cracked a lot more jokes than he had before, Sam laughing at all of them. They were getting along it seemed, well. Very well, actually. When he’d gotten up to clean up the dishes, Sam had brushed his fingers over Bucky’s shoulder, just like Pepper had to Steve when she’d cleared off the panini plates last week.

Steve had been worried about this plan, originally, even though it had been Sam who’d suggested it and Bucky had agreed. Worried he was putting too much on Sam, making him move from DC all the way up to New York, set up a life in Brooklyn with Steve’s tortured, mind controlled best friend from childhood. Worried he was abandoning Bucky with someone he didn’t know, couldn’t relate to. Sam had shrugged it off, though.

“Didn’t like my house in DC very much,” he’d said. “Hated the wall colors. I like Brooklyn. I already have a job with the VA there lined up. Besides, I helped you search so long for Bucky, you can’t believe I didn’t form _some_ type of attachment. Besides, Steve, I’ll be honest with you, I’m not convinced you two being together is a good idea right now.” Sam had clapped Steve on the shoulder. “That’s how it is.”

Bucky had just ground out a halting “I trust you, Steve,” which Steve had cried about, later, once he had gotten them settled in, on the car ride back to Manhattan. He didn’t cry very often, but this felt like something that was worth it.

Bucky was doing okay now, though. His good days were more frequent than his bad days. And the first thing that had come back was his sense of humor, which was both relieving and disconcerting at first. Bucky’s usual shit-talk with the Winter Soldier’s blank expression was troubling to say the least. But with time, and a lot of help from Steve and Sam and a professional therapist under a lot of NDAs, Bucky had gotten back to himself. Living with Sam seemed to help him out. And according to Sam, in response to Steve’s worrying, living with Bucky had actually helped him with his own PTSD, too.

He was waiting for Sam and Bucky now, both of them gone to fetch his coat and taking a long time about it. He headed up the hallway to where the coat closet was, but stopped when he heard the sound of kissing. He peeked around the door.

Sam and Bucky were standing in the hallway, Bucky holding Steve’s coat in his metal hand, the other wrapped around the back of Sam’s neck. Sam had Bucky gathered close to him, chest to chest, and the kiss seemed to be gathering a good amount of heat. Steve cleared his throat, and they jumped apart.

Bucky blushed, which he hadn’t done since the thirties. Sam looked to be trying to find some explanation that would appease Steve.

“No need to explain boys,” said Steve, grinning a little. “But can an old man get his coat? The ride back to Manhattan’s pretty long, and I need to gas up my bike on the way.”

He lay in bed, later, thinking about it. It made sense, he thought. The two of them, together in that house, helping each other heal. He trusted that Sam, at least, wouldn’t get himself into anything morally dubious. He wasn’t so sure about Bucky, because Steve had grown up with Bucky, but Sam at least he could trust.

As he thought about the nice view he’d had of them kissing, his cock twitched. He supposed that wasn’t too surprising either. Sam, obviously, was gorgeous, and Bucky wasn’t too bad for someone that Steve had known as a twelve year old.

He took himself in hand. On the list of sexual sins he committed, he figured that spilling seed was about the lowest rung on the ladder, so that had never bothered him too much, not even from the first time. Fantasizing about your two best friends having sex was pretty low on the ladder too, considering the two of them were already in a relationship.

He wondered what they did together, if they had sex. The two of them kissing, rubbing their cocks together. He bet Sam fingered Bucky, rimmed him maybe, until he cried. Bucky liked that sort of thing almost as much as Steve did, which was part of why they had never really clicked sexually. Flipping a coin to see who bottomed was never a sexy way to start a fuck.

Steve groaned and wiggled a little bit, trying to get comfortable. He reached into the bedside cabinet and coated his fingers, just gently rubbing one against his hole at first. He loved this, so much. He’d gotten fucked all the time before the serum, when he was small. Nobody had ever considered he’d top at his size, even though he had a perfectly working dick. He liked it though, liked being manhandled, flipped around and held down. It hadn’t happened in a while, though. When he got bigger people had wanted _him_ to be rough, to be the one to throw _them_ around. He could, now, but he didn’t like it so much. Besides, in the army, if somebody’s going to be a bottom in the squad, it’s not going to be the captain. He hadn’t had the time to get into it with Peggy. And he didn’t know, nowadays, the logistics of having sex. Nobody talked about it plainly anymore.

He moaned as he found his prostate. He wanted somebody to do this to him, somebody with rough hands that would be gentle against Steve’s skin. As he breached his hole with one of his own fingers, his mind shot to Tony, and Steve clenched around his finger.

“Oh my God,” he moaned. “Oh my god, fuck.”

Tony’s hands were big, Steve had seen that, but more than that they were skilled. Steve slipped a second finger into himself thinking about Tony’s hands drawing that airplane thing he’d been planning, or working with those tiny tools of his, dancing over a keyboard. His hands were rough, but at the same time so, so delicate, and Steve knew that they’d feel so good inside him.

His hand sped up as he thought about those hands grabbing his hips, holding him down firmly as Tony fucked into him, holding down his head as Steve drooled into the fucking mattress. Pulling at his hair, stroking possessively down his sides, shoving themselves in his mouth for Steve to suck on. It would be so good. He was humping into his fist and down onto the three fingers he had inside him when all of the sudden he thought of something else. Somebody else. Finely manicured hands so graceful around the handle of a knife, gentle on his shoulder. A curtain of red, sweet smelling hair falling around his face, an authoritative voice telling him that he was so handsome, that he was doing so well, that he was _good_ —

“Oh my god, fuck, I’m gonna come,” Steve groaned to no one, and then gasped as his orgasm tore through him.

“Oh my god,” he said, again, with horror, once he’d settled.

What the hell had he been thinking? It had been okay when he’d been thinking about Sam and Bucky because he hadn’t been part of it, they’d been together, but he’d put himself into the situation with Tony and Pepper, with each of them individually. They were dating, happy, practically married even, and he’d gotten of to the thought of them fucking _him_ , not each other. They were monogamous, and happy with it. What was wrong with him?

He felt awful about doing this to Tony. Tony was—well, Tony wasn’t his friend, but Tony was his teammate. Someone he had to work with, to lead. He couldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts about him, not if Steve wanted to look Tony in the face tomorrow. And Tony loved Pepper, he loved her so much. Steve knew Tony would move mountains for her, would literally invent a machine to move mountains. How could he get in between that? How could he even think about it? Pepper was a nice girl, but more importantly, Pepper was powerful. He shouldn’t have been thinking of her like that. Besides, everybody could see how much she loved Tony. How much they loved each other.

It had made him feel dirty, that fantasy, and Steve had rarely felt dirty after sex. He didn’t like the feeling.

“God damn it,” said Steve, and got up out of bed to get a washcloth to wipe the come off his own chest.

* * *

Steve had been acting weird lately. Specifically, weird around Tony. In the group, Steve was as he had always been. Handsome, strong, brave, surprisingly sarcastic. The old Captain America usual. But with Tony, Steve was quiet. Didn’t look Tony so much in the eye anymore, would look at the ground, or just over Tony’s shoulder. He flushed a lot, which was distracting. He didn’t talk very much either, not that he and Tony had talked a lot before. But even when they had fought, Steve had always looked him in the eye. Tony liked it when they fought, even though walking away from it had always made him feel bad. Even if Steve was in the wrong, Tony walked away feeling nasty. If Captain America was mad at him, how could he not be upset? More importantly, if Steve was mad at him, how could he not be upset? But when they had fought, during the arguments, Tony had loved it, because Steve had let himself go, just a little bit. He’d let himself stand a little bit too close, get a little bit too mad, be a little bit to mean. Said things or done things he maybe hadn’t meant to. Let go of that iron control for just a few minutes. Tony loved seeing that side of him. He wondered if there was some other way to make that happen, other than the fighting.

Steve had been looking at Tony’s hands a lot too, when he thought Tony wasn’t looking, which was also weird. Tony wondered what that was about.

Pepper interrupted his contemplation when she came up behind him and ran her hands through his hair. He was working on that drone design again, sitting on the leather couch in the lounge outside of their bedroom. Tony leaned his head into her hand, and Pepper began to slowly stroke his hair.

“You busy?” she asked.

“Hard at work,” he said, laying down his pencil. “But never too busy for you, Pep. What’s up, honey?”

Pepper sighed, and half sat against the arm of the couch. “We need to talk about some things, Tony,” she said.

“Oh no,” said Tony, then promptly put his drawing supplies on the table in front of him, took off his shirt, and headed towards the bathroom.

Pepper followed after him like a bloodhound, like she always had.

Tony dropped his pants along with his underwear, and turned the shower on by hand.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, stepping into the instantly hot spray. “I forgot that I had a pressing need to be in an incredibly noisy shower. Isn’t it weird how this shower is so noisy? It’s almost like it was designed this way. I can barely hear myself talk. We can wait to talk about whatever we need to talk about after this shower, right? I’ll just be a second. Well, actually, you know how I like to take my time. Why don’t you get back to work while I finish? Actually, why don’t you get on the plane and head over to the office in LA? You haven’t been there in a while, they’re probably withering and dying without your guiding light. That’s your duty as a CEO, to go help them. In LA. Not in New York.”

“Friday, turn off the shower,” said Pepper, and the stream stopped. “And if you don’t think I can keep perfect tabs on the LA office from across the country, than you haven’t been paying attention for the last nine years of this relationship.”

Tony turned the shower on again, manually. “I know you can, babe. And I’m in no way trying to get rid of you, if that’s what you think. I actually think you deserve a vacation. The sun, the beach, the babes. I know you like the babes, Pepper.”

“Friday, turn off the shower,” said Pepper. “Tony, we really do need to talk.”

Tony turned the shower back on, manually.

“Friday, bring the water temperature down to 40 degrees,” said Pepper.

Tony yelped, and turned it off, manually.

“Okay,” he said, as he reached for a towel. “You got me, babe. What do we need to talk about?”

“We need to talk about what’s been going on!” Pepper was getting mad, which Tony liked, but also hated. He was a man of complexities. “Why don’t you use Friday?”

“What do you mean, of course I use Friday. I enter all of my designs into her.”

“Yeah, you enter them. With Jarvis you didn’t enter them into him, you designed them on him. With him. Why don’t you use Friday?”

“I’m trying something new.”

“Tony.”

“You know, it isn’t nice to talk about Friday like she isn’t here. Right, Friday?”

“Oh, I don’t mind, sir,” said Friday’s cheerfully. Tony ground his teeth.

“You see?” Pepper asked, her heels clicking after him as he walked into the bedroom, a towel around his waist. “Did you notice that?”

“Notice what?”

“When Friday said something, you made this face and ground your teeth. What’s wrong with her Tony? Why don’t you like her? You made her.”

“I like her fine,” said Tony, throwing his towel on the floor and going over to his set of drawers to look for new clothes to put on. Pepper picked up the towel and hung it up, absently, out of habit. Then she sat on the bed, and sighed.

“Do you remember when you came back?” she asked. Tony didn’t need to ask where he came back from. It was when he came back from the caves, back from being tortured, and back from becoming Iron Man, before he even knew it.

“I remember a lot of stuff about that,” said Tony, selecting a t-shirt.

“Do you remember how you used to not be able to sleep on your bed? You said it was too high up, so at first you slept in a sleeping bag, and then I got you a mattress on the floor, then a low bedframe, and then you were able to get back into your bed? Or how you were afraid of water, at first, so first we washed you hands, and then your face, and we did sponge baths, and then we got you into the shower? Do you remember that?”

Tony nodded.

“These things take time, Tony,” said Pepper. “You have to work your way up. But you can’t get anywhere if you’re hanging onto what’s gone.”

Tony went over to Pepper, and kissed her forehead. Pepper smiled a little bit.

“And I hate to say it, but your productivity’s gone way down since Friday got installed. I don’t want to have to explain that to the board.”

“Well, we don’t want to disappoint the board.” Tony sat down next to her on the bed and held her hand. “I’ll try my best, sweetheart. I can’t promise miracles-”

“And I’m not asking for them,” said Pepper. “I just want you to take that first step.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, very much.”

“Since we’re talking about stuff,” said Tony, playing with Pepper’s fingers. “Have you noticed Steve is acting weird?”

“Steve is always a little weird,” said Pepper. “I mean the man’s a national hero, but sometimes he seems more nervous than a doped up cat on an airplane.”

Tony laughed. “Is that something your mom used to say?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Has he been acting weird around you, though?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, he doesn’t really look me in the eye, anymore. And he’s really quiet when he’s around me. I guess he does seem a little bit more nervous. He blushes a lot? And he looks at my hands, sometimes, when he thinks I’m not looking.”

Pepper tilted her head in thought. “That actually sounds a lot like how he acts around me,” she said. “Except the hand thing. He really seems to like looking at my hair, though.”

Tony knew that Steve had been harboring a little bit of a crush on Pepper ever since he’d first introduced them. Steve got all blushy and stammery around her, and clammed up, seemed too conscious of what his hands and body were doing at any given moment. Tony didn’t mind. Hell, Tony didn’t blame him. He wasn’t the jealous type, and to be honest, Tony didn’t think that Steve had even realized that he had a crush on Tony’s girlfriend. Tony would never think that Steve would try any sneaky stuff behind his back, and even if he did, Pepper was more than practiced at politely but firmly turning down lecherous invitations. She’d had practice on Tony for years.

But the social awkwardness, the blushing, the lack of eye contact, Steve did all of that now when he was with Tony.

Did Steve have a crush on Tony?

Tony didn’t know if Steve knew about this crush, didn’t even know if Steve was bisexual. Didn’t know if Steve knew he was bisexual. If Steve knew what bisexuality was. Did they have bisexuality back in the 40’s? Tony didn’t know.

If Steve had a crush on Tony, did he also have a crush on Pepper at the same time? He wasn’t acting any different around Pepper now than he had beforehand. Tony had been around the block enough to know that you could be into two people at the same time, even two people in a relationship with each other. Did Steve?

“Tony?” said Pepper. “Are you okay? If this is really bothering you, you should talk to Steve about it. Or I could try to talk to him, if you want me to.”

Tony couldn’t tell Pepper, at least not right now. He would, eventually, but he had to get his head around it. Had to figure out his own feelings. Honestly, odds were Pepper had already figured it out. He’d talk with her about it later, because he didn’t like lying to her.

“No, no,” said Tony, kissing Pepper quickly. “No, it’s no big deal, I just got lost in thought. Thinking about drone designs, you know how I am.”

“Alright,” Pepper said, and got up. “I need to go answer some emails. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

“Absolutely,” said Tony, and kissed Pepper goodbye. She walked out the door, but Tony sat there thinking for a long time. Eventually he got up, and as he walked out of the room, he said, “Friday, turn off the lights.”

“Of course, sir,” said Friday.

If the gentle sound of light bulbs flicking off could sound pleased, these ones would.

* * *

Sunday brunch was a tradition because Maria, Pepper, and Natasha were the only women involved in the Avengers who had their level of clearance, and moreover because it was always a good idea to keep tabs on someone who could be dangerous to you, and mostover because they all genuinely liked each other.

“Do we want mimosas?” asked Pepper, tapping her fingernails against the pale wooden table. They were taking brunch at the kind of vegan Brooklyn restaurant that replaced every kind of animal product with some kind of bean paste, and an appetizer cost upward of 30 dollars, and was only open from 10:30 to 12 every third Wednesday and fifth Sunday. Pepper was toying with going vegan, and Maria and Natasha were humoring her.

“I have a meeting at 4, but if I only have one I should be fine,” said Maria.

“You know me,” said Natasha, dryly, looking at her menu. “I love getting drunk at 10:51 in the morning.”

“As if you could get drunk off of one mimosa,” said Pepper. “You’d have to drink the equivalent of an entire potato field of vodka before you even got tipsy.”

“In any case,” said Maria, signaling for the waitress. “We need to make a decision so I can bitch to you two about my mother.”

“What’s been going on?” asked Pepper.

“I haven’t settled down and gotten pregnant yet so my mom has been leaving passive aggressive voice messages on my phone. Like she’ll call, and if I pick up she’ll pretend it was a mistake, but if I don’t she’ll be like ‘You know, sweetie, your dad and I are completely okay with your life choices, but that biological clock is ticking… even if you settle down with a woman there are all kinds of technologies nowadays… I loved being pregnant with you and your sisters so much… I just want to make sure you’re not alone… Jessica’s pregnant again, did you hear? Anyway, call me when you get this, I love you honey.’”

“Well, I can one up you,” said Natasha. “Bruce sat me down last week to talk over our,” and with this, she used a liberal application of finger-quotes, “‘Relationship’, which, frankly, I never want to think about ever again.”

Pepper hummed. “Bruce does seem like the type of guy who would like to talk things over. Probably to death. What did you tell him?”

Natasha sighed and played with her straw wrapper. Pepper and Maria and Natasha all knew that it was a little bit fake, and it was okay, because they all knew it. “That everything had happened so fast, and that in a situation like that, when emotions are so high, it can be easy to grasp on to a small attachment and carry it longer than you should. Neither of us are to blame, blah blah blah. He seemed to take it well. It was what he wanted to hear.”

“What do you actually think?” asked Pepper, leaning forward slightly. She knew it was awful of her, but she thrived on gossip. In her new position, she never heard anything fun, and with most people she had to pretend it was beneath her. When she had been a PA she had been on an email list with a bunch of other PAs for major businesspeople. She had never told anything about Tony, but she’d learned a whole lot about Steve Jobs’ sex life. There was nothing like the thrill of learning something new about someone, something they maybe didn’t want you to know. She loved the visceral vindication that comes from being proven right about something. It was one of the only bad habits she had that she didn’t try to correct.

A laugh escaped Natasha. “That I temporarily lost my mind? Bruce is fine as a teammate, and a nice person, but…”

“He’s not really your type,” said Maria, and glanced over at Natasha from the corner of her eye.

“No,” said Natasha, looking right at Maria. “Not really.”

Pepper took note of the gathering tension, and then coughed lightly and took a bite of her quinoa salad to break it. Natasha and Maria didn’t look away from each other.

“I think Steve wants to fuck Tony,” said Pepper, one hand delicately over her mouth while she chewed. “And to be honest, I think Tony’s pretty open to the idea.”

Maria and Natasha weren’t surprised, which didn’t surprise Pepper. She knew that if she had noticed it, Maria and Natasha would have, too. But it gave them something new to talk about.

“I’ve seen that,” said Natasha. “They stare at each other at team meetings when they think the other one isn’t looking. It would be cute if it wasn’t so weird.”

“Do you think anything’s going to come from it?” asked Maria.

“I don’t know,” said Pepper, thoughtfully. “Tony hasn’t mentioned it to me, which could mean either he hasn’t noticed, or he has, but isn’t telling me for some reason. Either one is equally plausible. In any case, I don’t think he would cheat on me, even with Captain America.”

“Obviously Steve is a total wild card,” said Maria, and Pepper nodded.

“I doubt he’d ever make a move on Tony behind my back, his Catholic heart would probably explode from guilt. But I don’t know if he even realizes his attraction. I know, of course, that there were queer people in the 30’s and 40’s, but I don’t know the extent of Steve’s knowledge or experience at all. I’ve tried researching, but there aren’t a lot of primary sources and I haven’t had a lot of time.”

“We kissed once for a mission,” said Natasha. “The kiss was fine, but it was how he acted afterwards that surprised me. His behavior towards me didn’t change at all. Most people would be awkward for a little while, at least, but Steve behaved like nothing of any note had happened. So either he’s completely uninterested in women or he’s very comfortable with casual sexual contact.”

“I know he was in love with Peggy Carter,” said Pepper. “And to be honest, I think he has a little bit of a crush on me. So he is interested in women.”

“Are we saying that Steve was just boning down in the 30’s and 40’s?” asked Maria.

They took a moment of silence to contemplate that. The waitress refilled their mimosa glasses.

“He was pretty,” said Pepper, thoughtfully. “He was short and skinny, but he still had the blonde hair and the blue eyes.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Natasha.

“Before you answer, consider the fact that you might be able to watch, or even participate in, Captain America and Iron Man fucking,” said Maria. “It’s every woman’s fantasy. I’m a lesbian and I’d still do it.”

Pepper took a moment to consider that. “I’d probably be up for it,” she said. She thought about it some more, about Steve’s body and Tony’s body and about both their bodies next to each other, their bodies touching her body. “I’d definitely be up for it,” she said.

“Of course you would be, who wouldn’t be?” asked Maria. “Wouldn’t you, Nat?”

“Of course,” Natasha said, but then grinned wolfishly. “Here’s what neither of you have considered, though: it’s not just Captain America and Iron Man. In order for anything to happen, you’ll have to get Steve Rogers and Tony Stark to communicate about their emotions.”

“Oh, fuck,” said Pepper, into her quinoa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! I tried to get this up by Friday, but this week was just crazy for me. I'm going to try to get a new chapter up every Sunday, now, just to keep it regular. Hopefully I can stick to it! As always, thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Steve didn’t know what to do, and when Steve didn’t know what to do, there was only one place he ever went: to Bucky.

_Bucky,_

_Is it alright if I come over later today? I think I’ve gotten myself into some trouble._

_Thanks,_

_Steve_

Steve made a sandwich while he waited for Bucky’s response. He didn’t have a panini press in his kitchen on his floor, but he sort of wanted to go down and make one. He had gotten a little bit hooked on them.

Then again, if he ran into Tony or Pepper he was liable to just pour everything out into their laps, so maybe it was better to stay upstairs and wait for Bucky to text back.

Steve looked up at the buzz of his phone.

_lol of course you did yah come over & bring that asgardian shit asap motherfucker were gonna get smaaaaaaaaashed_

Sometimes Steve thought that Bucky was acclimating much better to the 20th century than he was.

Steve still had a bottle of the Asgardian mead that Thor had given him earlier. It was during one of the first Avengers parties, when everyone was trying to get drunk enough to get rid of the awkwardness, the knowledge that even though they fought together, they didn’t really know each other. Steve had been sitting at the end of the bar, forcibly sober and awkward because of it, when Thor had walked up to him with a bottle of the stuff and grabbed a shot glass from behind the bar, poured the honey colored liquid into it. Just looking at it had made Steve more relaxed.

“Here, Captain,” said Thor, passing the shot over.

“You know I can’t get drunk,” said Steve.

“This is Asgardian mead. I have a theory that your body is closer to an Asgardian make up than a human’s. Alcohol works for neither of us. Drink this, and it will bind more strongly to the receptors in your brain.” Thor sighed at Steve’s blank look, brought a heavy hand down on Steve’s shoulder. “Drink it, it will make you drunk.”

Steve drank it. It tasted like lavender and smelled like roses, and that one shot got him drunker than he had ever been in his life.

Bucky couldn’t get drunk either, because of whatever Hydra had done to him, but the mead worked for him as well. The last time they had drunk it together, Sam had had to pick them up from a street corner in Queens at 10:30 on a Sunday. Bucky had gotten vomit on his shirt, so he had taken it off and lost it, and Steve was without his phone, his wallet, or his shoes. Bucky literally had started crying out of relief when they had seen Sam pull up. That had been a weird night. Steve still wasn’t sure how no photographs of it had ended up on the Internet.

“It’s just, am I a bad person?” asked Steve, a train ride and a shot later. “Wouldn’t only a bad person think those kinds of thoughts?”

“Oh yeah,” said Bucky. He was trying to get the pointy end of a straw to go through a package of a Capri-Sun, and having a lot of trouble with it. “You’re just the worst. Going straight to hell.”

“Oh my god, I knew it,” Steve moaned, and slumped slowly down to lie horizontally on the couch. The couch felt nice. Steve rubbed his cheek against it. It was a little bit fuzzy, and worn, and soft. It was so nice. Sam’s house was so nice. Sam was so nice. Steve loved Sam so much.

“I love Sam so much,” Steve said.

“If you love him so much why don’t you just marry him?” Bucky asked. He was sitting on the floor, because he said he didn’t want to be very far up off the ground, and still struggling with the Capri-Sun.

Steve blinked contemplatively. “I feel like that would probably solve most of my problems.”

Bucky snorted. “Well, yeah, get in line, pal.” He jammed the straw forward with too much force, and the straw pierced through both sides of the juice packet. “Well, fuck,” said Bucky.

“These things happen,” said Steve, and pet Bucky’s head gently in consolation.

“I can still salvage it,” said Bucky, and pulled out the straw, fitting his mouth over the entire top of the packet and squeezing it from the holes into his mouth. He was so smart. Steve loved him so much, too.

“I love you so much, too, Buck,” said Steve.

Bucky grunted affirmatively.

“I just don’t know what to do about this,” said Steve, turning onto his back to look towards the ceiling.

Bucky finished his juice and said, carefully, “You could go to confession.” Bucky didn’t really get confession, having grown up Jewish, and Steve knew that, but Steve also knew that Bucky knew that it made Steve feel better. Bucky never gave good advice until he did.

“It’s different now,” Steve said. “All the services are in English, and I don’t know the priest. He doesn’t give me any advice, like Father Samuels used to, just tells me to do ten Hail Mary’s and get out of his booth, basically.”

Bucky shrugged. “We still do ours in Hebrew, but everyone there is old. The one time I went, I was the only guy under 50.”

“And probably the only one over 90.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, probably. Although there were some real oldies.”

There was a little bit of silence. Bucky played with the Capri-Sun straw.

“I think I’m just going to try to ignore it,” said Steve, thinking about it. “I’m just not going to think about it, and keep it in me, and never talk about it, and hope it goes away.”

“That’s probably not the healthiest thing to do, and Sam probably wouldn’t like it. But hell,” Bucky said, and squirted the last of the Capri-Sun into his mouth with his metal hand. “I’ll drink to that.”

* * *

 Tony wasn’t very good at keeping secrets. You only had to look at his track record. He came out as bisexual by purposely making out with a boy on a street corner in front of the paparazzi at 14. He told the entire world he was Iron Man in a press conference explicitly for the purpose of telling everybody he wasn’t Iron Man. He couldn’t even keep the fact that he was slowly being horribly self-poisoned to death to himself, which, if you’re going to keep anything to yourself, it should be that.

He especially wasn’t good at keeping secrets from Pepper. He had wanted to tell her about his hundreds of suits, and he wanted to tell her about this Steve thing too.

He decided to tell her while they were out to dinner on a date one night, because, well, nobody ever said Tony had a good sense of timing.

Pepper had officially decided to go gluten free, but she had booked a table at a very nice Italian place downtown. When Tony had raised her eyebrows at her ordering the lobster tortellini, she looked at him like he was an idiot.

“It’s an Italian restaurant, Tony, nobody’s gluten free in an Italian restaurant.”

“Oh, well then, of course.”

Pepper smiled at him, and he smiled back, and they just sort of sat there smiling at each other for a little while. He never expected this before he got into his first serious relationship at the age of 43. That you would just sit there, in a pretentious Italian place, just smiling stupidly at the person you loved, and they would smile stupidly back at you, and people in the restaurant would try to discretely take pictures of the two of you while you did it.

It was the little things in life.

“Did Clint tell you about his new protégée?” Pepper asked, taking a sip of her wine.

“I know of no one less capable of having a protégée,” said Tony.

“Her name is Kate,” said Pepper. “She’s a society girl, and she fired an arrow at Clint’s head on the street with a note that said ‘I want to be Hawkeye’, and Clint caught it with his bare hands and took her on immediately.”

“Oh my God.” Tony put his head in his hands, and then looked back up at Pepper appealingly. “Was this what dealing with me was like?”

“Sugar,” said Pepper, kindly. “This is still what dealing with you is like.”

Tony rubbed his hands over his face. “Remind me to send you and Rhodey a thank you note this year.”

“I do it on your behalf every year,” says Pepper. “With a nice, heartfelt gift as well.”

“Oh, well, that’s good,” said Tony. “It’s good to know I’m so considerate.”

“We only get the best from you, Tony.”

“So this girl, is she going to be working with us? On the team?” Tony wouldn’t be averse to it. It would be nice to have a second sniper up above ground. He just wondered what she would be called. He didn’t like Hawkgirl very much. Hawkeye II? Hawkeye Jr.?

“I don’t know. I don’t think even Clink knows. Kate has probably figured it out, we could ask her.” Pepper sounded admiring, a little bit. Tony figured that Kate was either crazily competent, or competently crazy.

“I guess one of the people in that pair has their act together.”

“She did fire an arrow at his head.”

“Directness can be considered a positive character trait.” Tony cursed himself. Directness. He was dancing around the Steve-issue; this was what he came here to do. “Hey, you know Steve?” He asked, abruptly, before Pepper could come up with a witty rejoinder to his previous comment.

“Steve, like Captain America, Steve?” asked Pepper, used to his subject changes.

“Yeah,” said Tony, playing with the edge of his napkin on his lap, under the table.

“I do know Captain America Steve,” said Pepper, nodding her head slowly. “What about him?”

“Do you think he’s hot?” asked Tony.

“Yeah,” Pepper said, starting to sound a little bit bewildered. “I do. But I think everybody does, sweetie.” Pepper tilted her head towards him, trying to get a look at Tony’s face. Tony was staring resolutely down towards his shoes. “Do _you_ think he’s hot?”

“Yeah,” Tony blurted out, miserably. “And not in a hypothetical way. I wanna, like, bone him.”

Pepper burst out laughing. “Tony, bone him? Really?”

“Yes! You can’t say you want to—” Tony looked around and lowered his voice, leaning across the table. “—to _fuck_ Captain America, Pepper!”

“You can’t?” Pepper asked. She leaned back, and took a sip of her wine. There was a little bit of humor left in her voice, but mostly it was just dark, and hot, and quiet. “Because I’d love to fuck Captain America. I’d love to watch him fuck you.”

“Oh my god,” Tony said. He wasn’t going to lie, he was getting up in age, and brushing against a table anymore didn’t turn him on anymore, but there wasn’t a lot he wouldn’t do for that voice.

“I’d love to spread him out and watch you suck his dick for hours. He’s so sweet, Tony, do you think he’d beg me to let him come?”

The table was close, intimate, with a tablecloth reaching down to the floor. The table was small enough and they were secluded enough that no one would be able to tell when Pepper stretched out her leg and rested her Louis Vuitton’s gently over Tony’s dick.

“Oh my god,” squeaked Tony, again. Pepper wiggled her foot around a little bit, with just the tiniest bit of pressure.

“Do you think he’d be rough?” she asked. “Do you think he learned everything he knows from men in the army? You think he’d grab you, throw you around? Leave bruises?” The idea of anyone grabbing or throwing Pepper around in bed wasn’t even mentioned, because of course it wasn’t.

“This escalated so much faster than I thought it would,” Tony said, panting a little bit.

“He’s so sweet, though, Tony,” she said. “I don’t think he would be rough. I think he’d want to make us happy. I think he would work so hard to be so good for us. He always works so hard.”

Tony grabbed on to Pepper’s shoe beneath the napkin and ground his hips up against it, trying hard to be subtle. His face was red with embarrassment. He’d been caught in public doing things a lot worse than this, but with Pepper it was different. It was special, and it was humiliating in the best of ways.

“I’d love to watch you fuck him. I’d love to tie you up and make you watch while I fuck him. I’d love for the two of us to fuck him together.” Pepper smiled, and gently removed her foot, and signaled for the check. When the waiter left, she smiled again, gently, and a little bit condescendingly. “If you can get yourself under control by the time the check comes, I’ll suck you off in the car. Then I’ll fuck you when we get home. We’ll see about letting you come.”

“I love you so much,” Tony moaned, pathetically.

“I love you too,” she said. “But go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face. You’re as red as a tomato.”

* * *

 Pepper woke up early, and didn’t feel bad about the night before. She had fucked Tony hard and hadn’t let him come, put him away red and aching. He liked that, and so did she. They had talked, afterwards, about what they wanted to do about the whole thing, if they actually wanted to try for it. The decision had been a unanimous yes, with a caveat on Pepper’s part to try to take it as slowly as possible. They didn’t know how Steve felt about sex at all, let alone sex with men or sex with a couple. Still, though, she didn’t feel bad. A little bit hopeful, even.

She kissed Tony’s curls from where his head was sticking out of the blankets, then got out of bed and slipped on some jeans and a nice silk blouse. Just because it was a Saturday at 7 am didn’t mean she shouldn’t look nice. Following a hunch she had, she walked into their living room as to not disturb Tony with her talking.

“Friday, where’s Captain Rogers right now?” she asked.

“Captain Rogers is in the communal kitchen,” said Friday.

“Thank you,” she said, and walked by her own fully stocked kitchen to the elevator. When she stepped out onto the communal floor, Steve was muttering at the stove.

“What did that stove ever do to you?” she asked. She couldn’t help giving him a hard time sometimes. Maybe Tony was rubbing off on her, but all of that earnestness was such an easy target.

“Oh, there’s something wrong with the stovetop,” he said, ruefully, turning to look at her. “The gas is going, but the spark’s not catching.”

She smiled at him, then went to stand next to him at the stove. She breathed in deep, felt fire moving through her veins that ended in a little spout of flame. It caught the gas stovetop gently alight underneath Steve’s pan, holding what appeared to be the beginnings of scrambled eggs.

“Extremis,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “I had a surgery to get it under control, not removed. It’s my last line of defense, now. Don’t tell anybody, it’s a secret.”

“Oh,” he said, “I won’t tell.”

“Thank you.” She looked up at him. They were standing very close, she realized. “Hi, Steve,” she whispered.

“Hi, Ms. Potts,” he whispered back.

“Oh please, call me Pepper,” she said, imitating the natural grace of her mother’s friends. “No, but really, thank you. I’m really not supposed to tell anyone in case they develop weapons against me, but I’ve wanted to show off. I think you can be trusted, though.” She put her hand on his bicep, rubbing her thumb back and forth a little bit. Steve stepped back a half step, and she dropped her arm. Too fast, then.

Her nose twitched. “Don’t look now, Steve, but I think your eggs are burning.”

“Oh, shit,” he said, quietly, and grabbed the spatula. Then he looked at her, looking a little bit appalled with himself. “Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said, and grabbed a premade smoothie from the fridge, sat down at the breakfast table with it. “I hear worse from Tony in his workshop every day.”

Steve chuckled, and then they were quiet, Steve watching his eggs while they cooked, Pepper watching Steve watch his eggs.

“If it wasn’t a secret, would you want to become an Avenger?” he asked. “If it got out. I’m not saying it would, but if it did.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, sipping at her smoothie. He plated his eggs and brought them over to the table. “I like being a CEO, and I feel like I can do more good from my position now. Not that you all don’t do good, but I like where I am now. Besides, it won’t get out. Against today’s evidence, I’m actually very good at keeping secrets.” She sighed. “I wouldn’t have minded, though, if it meant I could have been there in Sokovia.”

She carried a lot of guilt after that. She had been out of town in Switzerland, hadn’t even heard about it until she had gotten out of the day’s meetings. After the missed phone call during the Battle of New York, she had gotten a little bit obsessive setting up alerts for any Avengers activity. Even though Tony hadn’t called her once, she still felt like she had let him down for not realizing, for not even noticing her phone going off.

And besides, Jarvis had been Tony’s family, but he had been Pepper’s friend. She hadn’t even gotten to properly say goodbye to him. Tony hadn’t but at least he’d been able to avenge him. Where had she been? At a trade meeting in Switzerland.

“Oh, I’m glad you weren’t there,” Steve said. She looked sharply at him. “Not that I wouldn’t want you there, of course. I’m sure you would have been a valuable member of the team. But that battle… it was awful. It felt like none of it made any sense, like we were doing things with no motivation, just hoping they would pan out, trying to connect the dots. I don’t even remember what happened; all of it was so twisted. I’m glad you didn’t have to go through it, that’s all I’m saying.” He ended in a mumble, seemingly embarrassed at his little speech.

“God,” she said. “I forgot how young you are.”

He laughed a little bit. “Young? Ma’am, I’m more than 90 years old.”

“You were born 90 years ago Steve, but you spent 75 of those years under the ice. Your brain is 25 years old. _You_ are 25 years old. I’m 10 years older than you. God, Tony’s 20. We all make fun of you for being an old man, but you’re younger than any of us,” she said, in shock. She felt a little bit guilty, now.

“I can still lead,” he said, defensive.

“Of course you can, of course you can.”  She wanted to cry for him, a little bit, this boy who was so young and so old. She could tell it was coming out in her voice, and she was furiously blinking. “You’re Captain America, of course you can lead. But you’re young, Steve, you’re very young.”

They sat there, her hand over his, in silence, for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! God, I'm so sorry this is so late. My life has been insane these last few weeks because of midterms. Oh well, better late than never right? I'm going to try to get another chapter out as soon as I can, but I can't promise when that'll be, I'm sorry!
> 
> I actually have two things I wanted to address in this chapter, though. 
> 
> First of all, I know that this isn't how Clint and Kate meet in the comics. And I know that this isn't really Movie!Clint, either. I just love comics!verse Clint so much, in all his failboat glory, that I wanted to just stick him into the movie!verse. And as for Kate and Clint meeting, well, I just had this vision of her shooting an arrow at him on the street and him hiring her right on the spot, and I couldn't get it out of my head. Oh, well.
> 
> Secondly, I wanted to talk about the semantics of the porn in this fic. Really sexy, I know. Because Pepper is a female Domme, I wanted to sort of flip the usual phrases we use to talk about sex on their heads. Men fuck, women are fucked. I don't think the Pepper in this fic would ever get fucked, especially not by Tony. So when Pepper says that she is going to fuck Tony, she doesn't mean she is going to fuck him with a strap on, or at least, it hasn't so far. Rather, it's referring to PIV sex in which the power is all on Pepper's side. Wanted to clear that up!
> 
> As always, please leave kudos and comments! Thanks so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

“You seem troubled, Captain,” said Thor.

Steve jumped. He had been sitting on the couch, technically sketching but more accurately staring out the wall to floor windows and thinking. Not brooding, no matter what Bucky said. Like he had any right at all to say anything about brooding when Steve knew for a fact that there were entire tumblr blogs dedicated to paparazzi pictures of Bucky looking sulky.

“I’m sorry,” said Thor, amicably. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright,” said Steve. You wouldn’t think a man of Thor’s size could be so quiet, but sometimes Steve would turn around and Thor would have appeared in the thirty seconds he’d let his mind wander. He would always apologize, but Steve still wasn’t sure how he did it. Maybe it was how the Asgardians made their shoes.

That was only one of the very anachronistic things about Thor Steve had observed. On the outside, Thor was easy: he was big, and blonde, and strong, and liked mead and food and Jane Foster. Everybody liked Thor, it was impossible not to. He was charming. He laughed a lot. He loved easily and wholly, and trusted the same way, and was one of the most intrinsically good men Steve knew. He wasn’t able to lift that hammer for nothing, after all.

But sometimes Thor would do or say something that made Steve realize that he wasn’t entirely… human. That reminded Steve why men just like him used to pray to Thor for mercy. Thor had access to knowledge that even Tony didn’t, would drop those bits of knowledge like they were nothing, like they didn’t completely revolutionize Earth’s science, because to him they were nothing. Sometimes he would get quiet, and it seemed as though the weight of a thousand worlds was on his shoulders. You couldn’t play a trick on Thor, no matter how you tried. He always knew what was coming. Steve supposed that growing up with Loki made everyone else seem see-through.

Thor did his best, but sometimes it was hard to ignore that he’d been alive eons before anyone else on the team, and would be alive ages after. This period of time was their entire lives. For Thor, it was barely a blink.

“What are you doing down in the common living space?” asked Thor, sitting down next to Steve on the couch. The couch faced away from the windows, towards the enormous TV hanging on the opposite wall, so Steve was kneeling backwards on the couch, balancing his drawing pad on the back of the couch and staring out into the skyline.

“The view’s better,” Steve said. “For drawing.” It wasn’t, really. It was precarious, the way he was sitting, not good for drawing. And the common floor was a few floors lower than his own apartment, with just slightly less good of a view. He had a nice spot set up in his apartment for art, in front of the window, a comfortable chair and an easel and even a drafting table. They had been there when he moved in, with the rest of his furniture, all set up. Tony said he had overseen each of their apartments personally, but Steve was sure he just meant technology wise. If Tony had gotten Steve his art supplies, than meant Steve would have to thank him for it, and that would be deeply inconvenient seeing as Steve had vowed to avoid him until he got over his little crush, possibly for the rest of eternity.

In any case, Steve was really in the common room because his apartment had felt big and empty, or at least bigger and emptier than usual. What was his apartment today could have fit… Steve didn’t even know how many of his apartments from the 30’s could have fit into the one he had now. Seven? Ten? He had no idea. It was so big, and Steve didn’t have very many things, so even with the furniture that Tony may or may not have supplied, it seemed very bare. He didn’t like to be in there, every so often, but at this time of day he also didn’t really have anywhere else to spend his time, or anyone else to spend it with. So Steve had really been sitting in the common room, hoping someone would wander by who wasn’t too busy and would maybe spend some time with him.

It might have been pathetic, but Thor had come along, so at least it was successful.

Thor had brought a book with him, and seemed perfectly content to sit on the couch next to Steve, reading while he drew. Steve peeked at the book a few times, but it was in a script he didn’t know, flowing across the page like river water. The closest language he could compare it to was Arabic, but this language was even more beautiful than that. Steve assumed it was a language from another world, and quietly put that thought away, maybe to ask Thor about it later.

Steve didn’t mind the silence. It was comforting, not to have to come up with something to talk about, to figure out the best way to respond to someone talking to him. He had had problems with it before he got to the 21st century, but since then, it’s even harder. He only knows what people are talking about maybe 75% of the time, and he never knows how his reactions suit what someone is saying to him. So the silence is nice.

He and Bucky used to do this, back when they lived near each other. Bucky would come over with a magazine, or a block of wood and a penknife to whittle with. Steve would draw, and Bucky would sit next to him, close enough to feel each other’s body heat. Thor sat close, possibly because he didn’t entirely understand personal space. Steve liked that; it made him feel like he wasn't alone in his lack of comprehension. They taught each other things, sometimes. Steve would ask Thor a question before he asked someone else, just in case Thor knew, because Thor wouldn’t make fun of him. Thor did the same thing. Steve didn’t think he was embarrassed to ask; rather, he thought that Thor knew it made Steve feel good to be able to answer his questions, and Thor wanted to make Steve feel good. He was considerate like that.

“Do you have something important on your mind, Captain?” Thor asked, after about twenty minutes.

“Not really, why do you ask?”

“Because you have been staring out the window, not drawing, for the past fifteen or so minutes,” Thor pointed out, smiling a little bit.

Steve could feel his face turning red. “It’s nothing.”

“Of course.” Thor went back to his book, and then thirty seconds later he announced, “I don’t really understand human sexual norms.”

“What?” asked Steve, blushing even further.

“I would ask Stark, but for someone who has had as much sex as he, he seems oddly unwilling to talk seriously about it,” said Thor. “You seem more likely to honestly answer my questions.”

Steve supposed he was right. Steve didn’t mind talking about sex: he had had a lot of it, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. People today were maybe freer to have sex, but they didn’t seem to be able to talk about it in a calm, rational way. Everything was a joke, or a double entendre. They were scared of talking about it in a real way, Steve realized.  Steve wasn’t, though.

“Alright,” Steve said. “I don’t know so much about today’s culture, but I’ll do my best.” He settled the right way next to Thor on the couch.

“It’s been explained to me in broad strokes, the LGBT movement and all, but I think there’s some things they didn’t even think to explain to me,” said Thor.

Steve nodded. It had been explained to him too, by a SHIELD intern with a silver ring through the middle of her nose and dyed tips to her hair. Race and gender, yes, but how sex had changed, too, that it was okay for men to be with men now, for women to be with women. That they could even get married. That people who were told all their lives that they were men could be women if they were really women, and visa versa. She must have noticed the surprise in his eyes because she very earnestly explained that if he ever got propositioned from a man, all he had to do was politely say no and they would leave him alone. Steve didn’t have the heart to tell her he had never turned down a proposition from a man in his life.

“Is it always two?” Thor asked.

“Is what always two?”

“On TV, in the movies, even people I meet, the people I know, it’s always two. Two people in the relationship. Is that all there is?”

“Are there… more? Usually?” Steve felt a little bit confused. Of course there was only two. No wonder SHIELD had neglected to explain this to Thor, how could anyone even think that that was something that needed to be gone over?

“Sometimes.” Thor shrugged. “We live for a very long time, Captain. No matter how in love you are, after a millennia together, it can get boring. Frustrating, for some. Sometimes it’s meant to be, that two people find each other and fit well, but not completely right, until someone else comes along, or multiple someones. There’s nothing wrong with wanting more, with wanting all you can have if it’s freely given.”

Steve looked down at his hands, fidgeting. “And that’s considered normal? Not wrong, or bad?”

“If everyone agrees to it, and it makes everyone happy, then no. The most important thing is that you’re happy. That’s all that matters.”

At this, Steve’s head snapped up to look at Thor. Thor looked back, smiling benignly, but Steve could see something in his eyes. Steve remembered, then, that this was someone who loved Loki all his life. Who still loved him. Who maybe, over the course of a few millennia, learned a little something from his brother.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “You’re smart, Thor. Why does no one ever notice how smart you are?”

“I think it is because I am large, and generally cheerful.” Thor continued to smile happily at him. Steve snorted in disbelief. Thor leaned forward, and placed a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder. “And because I am well meaning. I don’t harm others.”

He glanced down at Steve’s open sketchbook, and his smile took on just a little bit of a wicked air. “Those are some very nice pictures. I see you seem to be running with a theme.”

Steve looked down at his sketchbook while Thor gathered up his things and headed towards the elevator. Steve stifled a groan.

His sketchbook was full of drawings of strong, clever hands, of long waterfalls of hair and cheeks lightly dusted with freckles. Pages and pages of them.

* * *

Tony liked Bruce, and Bruce liked Tony back, which, in all honesty, was a pretty marvel experience. It had really only happened twice before, first with Rhodey, and then with Pepper. The fact that Rhodey and Bruce got along as well was a miracle, and it meant that Tony now had more than one male friend, which had never happened to him at all. It certainly made guy night much more exciting.

“Oh my God!” Rhodey crowed, as Tony’s self made firework shot up and exploded in red, white, and blue in the shape of War Machine. “Oh, damn, that’s nice.”

The three of them were sitting in fold up chairs in a field upstate. The War Machine and Iron Man armor were standing by. Tony had carried Bruce here. Rhodey had carried the chairs and the cooler.

“You’ve got one for all of us?” asked Bruce. He was drinking iced tea instead of beer, like Tony and Rhodey, because he was afraid it would make him lose control.

“Yeah, we’re gonna do a show over the Tower on The 4th of July. Yours is really cool, I made it so the sound of the explosion is deeper and lasts longer, sort of like the Big Guy’s roar.” Tony liked The Hulk, too, even though Bruce didn’t. Dealing with The Hulk was another thing he was good at, like science, or sex. It was simple. He understood how to do it. So he liked it.

“I’d like to see that,” said Rhodey.

“Well, you’re going to be at the party, obviously,” said Tony. “You won’t have anything better to do, I throw great parties. The best parties in town. Good enough to make Captain America himself lose the stick in his ass. You remember that time that he and Barnes got so shitfaced on that Asgardian shit? That was so priceless. I don’t even know why I made sure none of the pictures got onto the internet, honestly.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure you have no idea,” said Rhodey, into his beer.

“What?” asked Tony.

“Nothing,” said Rhodey, quickly.

“Actually, speaking of Steve—” Bruce started.

“Oh, man, his firework is so cool!” said Tony. It was possible he’d had a little more beer than he’d meant to. He drank a lot less, now, because of the team and Pepper and not going out to parties so often. His tolerance must have gone down. “It’s him in his costume, in red, white, and blue, like yours Rhodey, but then when everything fades the star on his shield stays for like an extra 15 seconds. It took me a really long time to figure out how to do that.”

It also took a really long time to make sure that firework-Steve’s biceps were looking as good as they did in real life, but Tony wasn’t so drunk he thought it was a good idea to mention that.

“You worked hard on Steve’s then?” asked Bruce.

“I worked hard on everybody’s!” Tony was offended. They were his friends, of course he was going to work hard on everyone’s firework. Everybody was an important member of the team. He’d wanted to do one for Pepper, because she was a hero, too, what with her crazy fire veins. She didn’t want it though, because it should be official heroes only, she said. That was okay, though. He’d give her his own special fireworks later. In bed. During sex.

Tony giggled.

“Okay, subtlety is not working,” said Rhodey, placing his beer on the top of the cooler and turning to face Tony. “What is going on with you and Steve?”

“You and Steve and Pepper, honestly,” added Bruce.

“What?” Tony squawked. “There’s nothing going on with Steve. Or with Pepper!”

“It’s okay, Tony, you don’t have to be defensive,” said Rhodey.

Tony struggled out of his lawn chair. He felt he should be upright for this. “Did you guys bring me here to psychoanalyze me?”

“Not that kind of doctor,” said Bruce.

“Talking about feelings isn’t what guy’s night is about!” Tony wanted to walk away from this, but he didn’t exactly know where he would go. They were in a field, and it was getting pretty dark.

“Guy’s night is about getting drunk enough to talk about your feelings,” said Rhodey, toasting Tony with his beer. “Voila.”

“We know you like him,” said Bruce. “You talk about him all the time, you bring him up when there’s really no reason to, when you’re with him sometimes you stare at him.”

“It’s honestly a little bit weird,” said Rhodey. “I mean, it would be creepy if I didn’t know you.”

“I don’t, I don’t like him! I just want to fuck him! I’m the creepy asshole who wants to fuck Captain America! There you go, you got me!”

“Tony, everybody wants to fuck Captain America, okay? Everyone’s that creepy asshole,” said Bruce.

“What?” asked Tony, stunned.

“Have you seen him?” asked Rhodey. “I would fuck him until I died of an exercise induced aneurism. But I don’t bring him up in every conversation I have, because I’m not romantically interested in him, man.”

“You’ve always had a thing for him,” said Bruce. “Something about him has always made you want to take him apart to see how he works, then put him back together in just the same way, just so you can watch him go.”

“Oh, shit,” said Tony, and sat down heavily in his chair. “I like Captain America. I like Steve.”

“You have a disgusting middle school crush on him,” corrected Rhodey.

“Is it that obvious?” Tony asked.

“A little bit,” said Bruce, kindly. “But I don’t think he’s noticed so far.”

“You think Pepper’s noticed?” asked Tony.

“Pepper’s definitely noticed. But if she hasn’t confronted you about it yet, it means she isn’t upset about it, so that’s good.” That comforted Tony. Rhodey knew Pepper almost as well as Tony did, so he was probably right.

“Oh, that is good.” Tony sat looking at his hands, and then out into the darkness of the field. “Do you think he likes me back?”

Rhodey and Bruce let out synchronized deep sighs.

“Alright, I think it’s time for another firework,” said Rhodey, hoisting himself out of his chair. Bruce got up and followed him. Tony stayed in his chair as they walked away from him.

“But wait! You guys! You didn’t answer my question!”

* * *

Pepper came across Wanda Maximoff in the common room. Wanda was looking out the window out into the skyline of New York. At the light sound of Pepper’s bare feet, she looked up.

“Sorry,” said Pepper. “Tony’s doing something in our apartment that involves blasting rock and roll. I just want to read my book, but I can go somewhere else if I’d bother you.”

“No, it’s alright,” said Wanda, quietly. “You won’t bother me, Ms. Potts.”

“Call me Pepper,” said Pepper. “I’m only Ms. Potts to people who work for me.”

Wanda just turned back to the window without speaking. Pepper settled on the couch. There was silence for a few minutes. Pepper didn’t really know Wanda. She was on the team, but she did smaller missions, for now, to build up her experience and ability to cooperate with the team. At least, that was what Steve said. Really, Pepper knew that the rest of the team still wasn’t entirely sure that they could trust her. Wanda spent a lot of time alone, Pepper thought probably in her room. She wondered what Wanda did all day.

“Can I ask you a question?” Pepper asked, “About your power?”

“Go ahead,” said Wanda, without turning away from the window.

“Can you make yourself see things? Does it work on yourself?”

“You’re asking if I can make myself see my brother?” Pepper could see Wanda’s cheek lift up in the littlest bit of a smile. “No, I can’t.”

“I’m sorry for asking,” said Pepper. “It’s really none of my business.”

“No, it’s alright.” Wanda turned around, leaning against the glass and fixing Pepper with a steady gaze. “I lost a brother. It would be a dishonor to his memory not to talk about him. Pietro always talked so much.”

“A brother is a hard thing to lose,” said Pepper.

“Yes,” said Wanda. “I lost my brother, and I left my country behind, and now I live in a house with strangers, with people who I used to hate, to fight. I’m alone for the first time in my life.”

Pepper gets the feeling this is the first time Wanda has talked about this. And who would she talk about it with? Just like she said, she’s completely alone.

“I’m sorry,” said Wanda, turning back to the window. “I have a nice place to live, for free, and I have a job. I have a team, however little you all trust me. It’s alright.” Wanda scratched one fingernail against the glass, making an awful squeaking sound. “I’m alright,” she said, as if trying to convince herself.

Pepper got up and fled, without even excusing herself. She didn’t care if Tony was blasting music so loud that she couldn’t hear herself think, anything else was better that that mausoleum of a room and the practically dead girl inside it.

When the elevator opened, though, the music was off, and there was no sign of Tony. She placed her book back on the bookshelf where she had taken it off, and peeked into the slightly ajar door of the bedroom. Tony was lying on his back on the bed, spread out shirtless in the center, fast asleep. She sighed, and went into the bedroom, took off her jeans and her bra, slipped into bed next to him in just her underwear and t-shirt. She had to rearrange them to get them under the blankets, and Tony ended up spooned behind her, breathing into her hair. He smelled so familiar, like coffee and oil and a little bit like sweat, like the remnants of her perfume and like their bed. Pepper had always been an easy crier, and wrapped up in Tony so snugly, she couldn’t help but let a few tears escape. She wondered what Pietro had smelled like. If Wanda had made fun of him for smelling bad but really found the smell of him comforting. Pepper thought she probably had. That’s what Pepepr would do, if she had a brother.

“Honey,” said Tony, sleepy, concerned, confused. “Are you okay?”

“I just, um,” said Pepper, wobbly, cursing how easily she cried. “I just really don’t want to lose you.”

“Oh, hey,” Tony said, gathering her in even closer against her body. “Nobody’s losing anybody.” He kissed the crown of her head.

Pepper liked that, but she wanted to be closer. She brought Tony’s hand, resting on her stomach, down to the top of her underwear. “Can we?” she asked.

“I mean, you’re crying?” Tony asked, hesitantly. “If you want to, we can, but if you’re upset—”

“No, I just, I want to be close to you,” she said. Tony kissed the back of her neck, gently, below her bun, and started to rub her lightly, over her underwear, one hand coming up to cup her breast under her shirt. It was quiet, just the sound of their breathing. Tony paused with his fingertips at the edge of her underwear, and when she nodded slightly, slid his hand under the waistband and began rubbing gently at the side of her clit, then slid one finger down and inside her. He was wearing flannel pajama pants, and they were soft against her legs as he ground his cock slowly against her ass. He kissed her neck, open-mouthed. All of the sudden, Pepper couldn’t take it anymore. She rolled onto her front and slid her underwear down to her knees, rucked her shirt up to her shoulders.

“I want to fuck you,” she said, quietly, “but you be on top.”

“Okay,” Tony said. It was so, so quiet. She could hear him fumbling his pants down, just past his ass. He spread her legs gently as far as they could go and lay down on top of her. Pepper tipped her hips up, and he grasped at them with one hand, rubbing his cock against her opening.

“Go slow,” she told him, “not just to start, the whole time.” She wanted slow, wanted to be surrounded by him, to rock together like a boat on the waves.

“Of course,” he said, sliding into her inch by inch. “Whatever you say.”

He couldn’t get very deep, in this position, and she had to rub her clit herself because both of his hands were occupied with keeping them in the position, but it was so good anyway. He went as slow as he possibly could, nuzzling at her neck. She let her hair down and he buried his face in it, still going glacially slow, just like she wanted.

She loved him so much, and told him so. He gasped with it.

She didn’t want to lose this, she realized. She had never been afraid of change, but they had never fucked anyone together before. If she knew herself correctly, and was reading Tony right, they would be trying to date someone together for the first time too. Just then, the thought of losing even a little bit of him to someone else was intolerable. She couldn’t stand it, if she lost him to Steve. She wanted him to be hers, all hers.

“Oh my God,” said Tony, quietly. She knew it couldn’t be too good for him, the shallow angle, the slightly awkward position. Still, he sounded wrecked by her. “Oh, Pepper, oh my God.”

She smiled, then, into the pillow. She couldn’t lose Tony. She would never lose Tony. Tony was hers as much as she was his, and adding someone on to that wouldn’t make that any less true. After all, if it worked out, Steve would be hers too. And she would be his, and Tony would be his, and Steve would be Tony’s. Pepper grinned as she began to rub her clit harder, biting her lip and moaning gently as tension gathered in her thighs and she started to come. Tony soothed her through it, eventually coming to a stop once her orgasm receded.

“You can keep going. If you want to come, you can go faster.” Pepper wouldn’t mind that, having him finish inside her, groaning into her hair.

“No, that’s okay,” he said, and pulled out, lying on his back.

“You were good,” she said, turning over to rest her head against his chest, looking down at his cock, still hard and red and shiny. “You were good for me, you deserve to come, you know that, right?”

“No, I do,” said Tony. “I just, I think that was about you.” Pepper lifted her head to protest, and he gently drew his fingers through her hair to calm her. “It was about us, of course it was about us, but it was mostly about you. If you’re okay, I don’t need to come. It’s alright.”

She rubbed his chest, and hoped that the praise that was on her tongue came through by her touch. By the way he shivered a little bit, she guessed he figured it out.

She was close to falling into a nap when he surprised her by talking. “Were you thinking about Steve, at all, during that?”

She blinked a few times. “A little bit. Not the whole time, but for some of it. What about you?”

“Same,” he said, contemplatively. “Not the whole time, but for some of it.”

“We should do something about that,” said Pepper.

“Yeah,” said Tony, and pet her hair until she fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm probably going to stop trying to predict when I'm going to post stuff because it never works out right for me. So the next chapter will be posted... at some point. It will be posted, though, and this fic will get finished! Have faith in me, because I have faith in myself. Thank you so much for reading, please feel free to leave comments and kudos, I live for that shit!


	5. Chapter 5

Natasha was being exceedingly difficult. Downright mutinous, even.

“I can’t go shopping with you tomorrow, Cap,” said Natasha, as she punched a goon in the face. “I’m busy, tomorrow.”

“You’re the one who said I needed new clothes,” Steve grunted, as he threw her towards a second goon and then round-housed another in the face. “And what are you so busy with tomorrow that you can’t help a pal out?”

“If you must know, I have a date,” Natasha said, primly, choking out a man with her thighs. “If you want to go this weekend, I can come with you.”

“This weekend’s no good. If I don’t go tomorrow, I’ll never go.” Steve punched the last man standing into unconsciousness. He sighed. “This room’s clear. Has anyone found what we’re looking for?”

“Not yet,” said Thor, on the comms.

There was an explosion.

“I got it,” said Clint. “Also, for good measure, I exploded where it came from.”

Steve heard Tony laughing.

Steve sighed, and rubbed his hand along his jaw. He had a burn on one calf, and one of the women he had fought had managed to get her hands on a knife and slice up his bicep a little bit; plus his head itched underneath his cowl. He was tired. “Alright, good enough,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

Steve was bandaging up his bicep on the Quinjet when Tony approached him. The Iron Man armor had been damaged in the fight, so Tony was stuck riding with the rest of them.

Tony came to a stop in front of Steve, and spent a long time looking at his bicep.

“It’s not very serious, if that’s what you’re wondering,” said Steve.

“Oh, no, that’s definitely not what I was thinking about,” Tony said, his eyes snapping up to Steve’s.

What did that mean? That Tony didn’t care enough to think about whether or not Steve was hurt? Was he making fun of Steve for even thinking that Tony would think of him, of his injury?

“What do you want, Stark?” Steve snapped.

Tony opened his mouth, as if to lob something rude back at Steve, then closed it. Opened it again. Closed it. “I heard you needed to go shopping,” Tony blurted, eventually.

“I’ve been informed that my wardrobe is inadequate,” Steve said, turning his attention back to his bandaging so he wouldn’t have to look Tony in the eye.

“I think I heard Natasha call it a ‘monstrosity’ over the comms,” said Tony. Steve couldn’t figure out if his tone was playful or not. He never knew with Tony.

“Yes, thank you,” said Steve. “Well, you know what, if you’d like to help—”

“I would,” said Tony. He sounded sincere, maybe.

“What?”

“I grew up in the spotlight, constantly. I couldn’t have somebody dress me everyday. I’m good with clothes. I have to keep up with what’s fashionable, so I know all about it.”

Steve looked up at him, guardedly.

“And your fashion sense is so awful, I figure somebody has to help you with it,” Tony said, a quirk to his mouth.

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” said Steve sarcastically, shoving the gauze and antibacterial cream back into the med kit.

“No, I didn’t—” Tony sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be the most enjoyable afternoon you’ve ever had, but I know what I’m doing. Besides, it’ll stop Natasha from nagging you to death.”

“Hey, now,” said Natasha, lightly, from the front of the plane. Tony’s skin got a shade lighter, and he gave a nervous chuckle.

Steve had sworn to keep his distance from Tony for his, own good. But just a shopping trip? It was only an afternoon. And it would get Natasha off his back about his fashion sense, and Bucky, and Sam—

“Alright,” said Steve.

“Great, it’s a plan,” said Tony, pulling out his phone, already distracted. “I’ll let Pepper know.”

“Why does Pepper need to know?” As if it wasn’t enough that he had already failed in keeping himself apart from Tony. Was Pepper coming, too? He didn’t know if he could handle that.

“Well, you’re a pretty convenient excuse for getting out of board meetings. Team bonding, and all that. She can’t yell at me if I’m taking you out and about.” Tony grinned cockily at him and walked off, still typing on his phone. The under-armor suit he wore was tight, and clung to the muscles of his back, his ass.

“I am so fucking fucked,” said Steve, in a rare moment of emotional honesty. He could practically hear Bucky laughing at him now.

Later, on the phone, Bucky was actually laughing at him. Hysterically.

“So not only did you completely give up on the ‘stay away until it goes away’ plan—”

“I didn’t give up, it’s just on… hold.”

“And not _only_ did you somehow finagle yourself into a one on one date with Tony Stark, who you are _dying_ to hate-bone—”

“I told you it’s not a date. And nobody’s dying to ‘hate-bone’ anybody.”

“Now you’re calling me to ask me what you should wear? Steve, really? You’re really saying it’s not a date?”

Steve sighed while looking at his closet. He had a few pairs of khakis hanging up, one nice pair of jeans. Some shirts. A lot of exercise clothes. One suit. He didn’t mind his clothing choices usually. They suited him, and were enough for what he needed. But Tony was always so flashy, wasn’t he? Even when he was in a t-shirt and sweatpants, somehow they hung off of him better than they would on any other person. He just looked good, all the time. It wasn’t like Steve wanted to impress him, but. Well.

“I just don’t want to scare the shop people too badly,” said Steve, looking through his plaid shirts again. This red, white, and a blue one was nice. Imagining what Tony’s face would look like if he showed up in a shirt the color of the American flag, Steve flipped past that one. “You remember the way your tailor looked at me when I went to go get a suit for your Bar Mitzva?”

“That’s because he had never seen a goy so small, Stevie. You’re the pinnacle of physical condition now. Anything you wear will look good.”

“Then why are you guys always harping on me about my clothes?”

“Because the sexy grandpa look is not something that we want to see every day. It’s confusing, sexually.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “I just don’t want to show up looking like a bum, it doesn’t have anything to do with Tony.”

Bucky sighed. “You’re a real shmegegge, kid, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Steve. “Put Sam on the phone, he’s who I called anyway. Also, I can’t believe you picked up his phone, that’s so invasive of you. What if it was his mother?”

There was muffled swearing from Bucky, sheets rustling, and then Sam’s voice. “Wear your jeans and that nice dark raspberry Henley that Natasha got you. Keep two buttons unbuttoned.”

“The pink one?”

“Dark raspberry,” said Sam, wearily. Steve pursed his lips, and as if he knew, Sam said, more patiently: “It’s going to be fine, Steve. If you get nervous just take a few deep breaths.”

“Thanks, Sam,” said Steve, smiling as he ran his fingers over the bumpy material of his shirt. He liked his friends.

“I’m passing you back over to Bucky so you kids can say goodbye. Otherwise I know you’ll both just cry and cry all night.”

Steve heard Bucky laugh in the background.

“He might, but I’ll be just fine.” Bucky’s voice got louder and louder as he accepted the phone from Sam. “Nighty-night, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Buck.”

“When you tell Stark you love him, just try not to sob too hard, alright?”

Steve hung up.

When he lay in the dark, later that night, trying to go to sleep, he felt the presence of the dark raspberry Henley like a weight on his chest, sitting innocently on top of his bureau.

* * *

It wasn’t a date. Of course it’s wasn’t. At least that was what Tony told himself. And Pepper. Repeatedly.

“I mean, it’s not a date, because if it was, you would be coming with us,” he said, tying up his shoes. Not to ostentatious or shiny, he didn’t want to scare Steve off. Not that he had put a lot of thought into it, or anything.

Pepper hummed from where she was sitting on the couch, almost ready for work, her shoes lying next to her on the floor. She was typing something into her tablet, and not paying the attention to Tony, that, frankly, he thought he deserved.

“Do you want to come with us?” he asked.

Pepper finally looked up from her tablet, with an equal amount of patience and annoyance on her face. “Honey, I can think of nothing I would rather not go to than you and Steve’s little shopping trip.”

“I think it’s going to be great. I think it’s going to be loads of fun. You’re going to be missing out.”

“I’m sure I will be,” said Pepper, turning her attention back to her tablet. Her hair was up, and he bent to kiss the back of her freckled neck as he walked out the door.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too. Now go have a blast.” Pepper smiled, like she knew something.

What Pepper knew, apparently, was that this shopping trip was not going to be a blast. It was, in fact, going to be a disaster.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t try them on,” said Tony, emphatically gesturing with the pair of pants he held in his hands. He nearly hit the shop woman, who, he realized, looked distinctly terrified. He made a note to slip her a couple of hundreds after this was done.

“I don’t like them, Tony, I’m not going to try them on.” Steve had his stubborn face on, along with a hint of his angry face. Tony was very well acquainted with both of those faces.

“Alright, but you said that these were the least disagreeable pants.”

“Least disagreeable doesn’t mean agreeable, it means least disagreeable.”

“I know what least disagreeable means.”

“Well, clearly you don’t.”

“Please, enlighten me as to what it means, then.”

“It means I’m not trying them on!”

“Fine! Okay, then,” said Tony, and placed the pants in the towering ‘no’ pile in the dressing room. “So far we have two? Correct me if I’m wrong, two things you like, and they are both plain t-shirts.”

“One of them has a fun pattern on the breast pocket,” said the saleswoman, hesitantly.

“Oh, you’re right, Susan, thank you,” said Tony, and turned back to Steve. “One of them has a fun pattern on the breast pocket, Steve.”

“I don’t like anything that’s too fancy,” said Steve, mulishly. He crossed his arms, and Tony looked at his chest, covered as it was by a very tight Henley. The color made Steve look particularly… blonde. And his cheeks and lips particularly… pink. Looking at that wasn’t enough to calm Tony down, though.

“We are at the Gap! I brought you to literally the least fancy store in the world, no offense, Susan.”

“It’s fine,” said Susan, faintly.

“I don’t know what you want!” Steve seemed to erupt, going from mulish and sulky to explosive in a matter of seconds. “You say something, and I don’t know what it means! I never know what you want. Why did you volunteer to come here, today, Tony? Was it to make fun of me? Because I don’t know anything about fashion?”

Tony was so angry he didn’t even know what he was saying. “I offered to come with you because I wanted to spend more time with you!”

Steve inhaled sharply, and Tony waited for him to be angry again. Instead, he only looked confused. An awkward silence descended, in which neither Tony nor Steve broke eye contact.

“Alright,” said Susan. “Captain, do you like the shirt you’re wearing now?”

If possible, Steve looked even more bewildered. “Yes?”

“Okay, well, we have a number of shirts of a similar style to that one, as well as the ones Mr. Stark helpfully picked out for you. If you’d come this way, I’d be happy to show them to you. Also, have you ever thought about branching out into scarves?”

Forty five minutes and 500 dollars slipped discreetly to Susan later, Steve and Tony stood dazed outside the Gap. Within the two bags Steve held were a number of shirts, pants, and even a few scarves.

“So, we’ll have to get it all tailored,” said Tony. “But we can do that another day.”

“Tailored?” Steve asked.

“That’s the key to really looking good,” said Tony. “Never wear anything right off the rack. I get everything tailored.”

“Even your t-shirts?” asked Steve, amused.

“Even my pajamas,” said Tony, grinning.

“Even your underwear?” Tony laughed out loud, and Steve joined in.

“Actually, yes, though,” said Tony, and Steve chuckled a little bit more. Tony liked Steve’s face in any way, but he thought he liked it best when it was laughing.

“Yeah, we can do that another day,” said Steve. “I’m exhausted.”

Tony didn’t want this to end, this suddenly nice part of the day, where Steve laughed at his jokes, cracked jokes back. “Do you want to go get some ice cream?” asked Tony.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Ice cream. There’s a good place up a couple of blocks. We could walk there? If you want?”

Steve looked confused, and then smiled, again. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

These are new things Tony learned about Steve when getting ice cream with him: Steve never got the same ice cream flavor twice, because there were so many different kinds now, and he wanted to try them all. Steve and Bucky used to make their own ice cream in the summer because Bucky’s father was a friend of the ice man, and then they used to sell the ice cream for five cents a cone. Steve’s cheeks got pink when he laughed hard. Steve smelled comfortingly of plain soap and laundry detergent. Steve liked AC/DC fine, but liked Against Me! better. Steve’s guilty pleasure had always been dime pulp crime novels. Steve had picked up drawing again, recently, but was shy to say what it was he had been drawing. Steve’s lips were soft when Tony kissed him as Steve got out of the elevator. They were still a little bit cold, and still tasted like Rocky Road.

* * *

“It wasn’t not a date, I guess,” said Tony, in bed afterwards. He had come home with Steve still on his mouth, had picked her up and laid her down on the bed, whispered “oh, baby,” into her neck over and over, and had been fucked like his life depended on it. He had tasted like ice cream, and Pepper pretended she could taste Steve on him, too.

“I feel like the kiss at the end makes it a date, sweetheart,” she said, stroking her hand through his hair.

“His lips were so soft,” he said, touching her lips, and then his own.

“As soft as mine?” she asked, watching him touch his own lips, wondering if she was up for a second round.

“I don’t know,” he said, considering. “I think more extensive research needs to be done.”

Pepper bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I love it when you talk science to me.”

Tony hauled her up on top of him, making her shriek, and then neither of them talked again for a while.

“I wish you could have been there,” Tony said, after that round was over, lying with his head on her lap, his body curled around her legs as she sat against the headboard. She scratched her nails over his scalp, delicately.

“I don’t mind,” she said. She didn’t, really. Steve and Tony riled something up in each other, and before they could be together as the three of them, those two needed to get it out. She hadn’t wanted to be there for that, and more than that, she shouldn’t have been. But now, hopefully, the three of them could work together well now, like one of Tony’s well oiled machines. Like the team. She knew it would be something that would need adjusting, constant tweaking and rethinking, but she was confident that they could get there. They weren’t even close, now, but she could feel that they were getting there. They were on the road to it.

“Do you think Steve is going to wear white at the wedding?” Tony asked, playing with the sheets bunched up around her waist.

“What wedding?” Pepper asked, distracted.

“Our wedding, the three of us. Is he going to wear white? We haven’t figured out if he’s a virgin yet.”

“Maybe he’ll wear red, white and blue. He could wear his field suit. And you can wear your armor.”

“And you could wear your most terrifying power suit.”

“Oh, my mother would love that,” she said, laughing with Tony. Sometimes, when he laughed like this, loud and unguarded, he looked like such an idiot. From the angle he was at, she knew that he could see up her nose. They were so lucky they loved each other.

“He’s so handsome, isn’t he? Like, God, what’s up with that?” Tony flung himself away from her in agitation, only to cuddle back up to her a second later.

“I know, it’s ridiculous,” said Pepper. She loved Tony, that he would do this with her. Her favorite part of sleepovers when she was a little girl was talking about who liked who, gossiping with her friends. It made her feel this special kind of closeness, that sharing of emotions. She hadn’t even had to tell Tony that, he’d just known. The first night she’d slept over in his bed, they had spent half the night with the lights off, giggling.

“It’s not like he’s carved from marble or anything, because, honestly, sometimes that’s a turnoff. He looks like a normal person. Just a really handsome normal person.”

“Sometimes I want to ask him if he moisturizes,” said Pepper. Tony cackled, and Pepper stroked his hair again. Eventually, he subsided.

“I literally just can’t believe that happened,” said Tony, wonderingly, touching his lips again.

“Okay, rub it in,” said Pepper.

“Oh, you’ll get your chance,” he said, flapping a hand and then getting up out of bed. “I’m going to go shower.”

“I think I’m going to grab something from the kitchen,” she said, slipping on a pair of soft cotton sleep shorts and one of Tony’s shirts from the floor.

Nothing looked good in the kitchen, though, and really all she wanted was a panini.

When she got to the communal kitchen, Steve was sketching at the kitchen table. He didn’t look up from his work, but she could see his ears go a little bit red. She knew he could see her out of her peripheral vision, see her in little shorts and her boyfriend’s shirt, messy hair, no bra. She smiled, a smile her ex boyfriend Todd had always told her made her look like she was about to eat somebody. Steve kept his attention on his sketching.

She hummed as she made her panini, and put it on a plate when it dinged. She left it on the counter as she went over to Steve, gently touched his shoulder. He looked up at her, and she leaned in slowly enough that he had enough time to get away. Tony was right. His lips were very soft, and a little bit dry. She brought her lips off, kissed him again, and this time it was a little bit wetter. She hummed in satisfaction. When she drew back, just the littlest inch off his lips, she opened her eyes. He kept his closed, she noticed.

“I know you don’t like to talk about these things,” she said. “And Tony doesn’t either. And sometimes things don’t need to be talked about. But I think this does. So we’re ready, when you want to talk. Just knock on our door, we’ll be there.”

She drew off, and grabbed her panini off of the counter.

“Besides, I couldn’t let Tony have all the fun,” she said as she walked out. She looked back over her shoulder and committed Steve’s face in that moment to memory. She liked ‘flabbergasted’ on Tony’s face, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless Saleswoman Susan, she puts up with so much. Also the thing about celebrities getting their clothes tailored is true, I read it on the internet. As always, thank you so much for reading, and please leave comments and kudos! They make me very happy.


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